


Perpetual Tryst

by orphan_account



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Deepthroating, M/M, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24823441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A monarch never lowered themselves to baseless rumors or desires. Composure is woven into their blood, along with the proper virtues befitting a Kingdom. Humility, patience, wisdom, restraint. Gifts and skills given to those destined to rule from the gods themselves.Too bad none of those ever seemed to come easy to the King of Temeria. Especially when deadlines approached.
Relationships: Foltest/Vernon Roche
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Perpetual Tryst

**Author's Note:**

> It's just too easy.

“Roche,” he hissed, his eyes locked on the door as he felt the sweat forming around his temples and nape of his neck, his fingers digging harshly into the complicated folds of the navy chaperon. A little too roughly perhaps, as he felt Roche physically wince, but he wasn’t in the mood to apologize. Or to drag this out longer than it had to be. “Faster. There isn’t much time left until the delegation comes.”

His poor loyal hound did try to quicken his pace of pleasuring him, but the limited opportunity between them was putting too much pressure on the act - the end. For him to come and Roche to make him do so fast enough that he wouldn’t be caught with his damn robes up. He was a king, not a member of the church or merchant guild, and despite the fact that he was expected to be virile, he doubted that fucking his soldier’s throat was going to be viewed as anything other than indecent and morbid. Even though Roche rivaled the best Vizima had to offer.

His Commander was thrusting his mouth down his cock in a steady, hurried rhythm, nearly gagging a few times when he inadvertently thrust, but he obediently persisted. Devoted and determined to fulfill his order as he kneeled before him; The picture of a twisted loyal companion. Yet it wasn’t enough for him. He needed more than Vernon spitting all over his cock to make him quickly come. He wasn’t ploughing Demavend with his whores or Henselt prying at lower-birthed women. He was a proper King of the North.

One that fucked his Blue Stripes Commander. And his sister. And a married Baroness.

Fuck it, they all had secrets, didn’t they?

Maybe he shouldn’t have teased Vernon so heavily prior to a meeting with not only members of his inner council, but the heads of his army and the Nilfgaardian Ambassador. If Natalis or Bredzik saw, he could pay them off to keep quiet. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t caught him in a highly compromised position before - though that was usually with some female chambermaid or kitchen helper that caught his gaze. The rest, especially bloody Count Kalen, would not be as kind to accept bribery coin. They had been wanting him disposed ever since Adda’s curse was lifted and he was practically giving them reasons with acts like this.

But Barons could always fall to blades and have their allies threatened and bought. It would exhaust his coffers, but it could technically be done. Only there was a stress on the ‘technical’ part of such a thing. Temeria was already wounded and weak from war and plague and back alley exchanges would only further tarnish her. Why couldn’t he just keep his damn cock in his trousers?

What disturbed him more was that Shilard was an entirely different matter altogether from Northern nobility and military. Too sly and all knowing for a mere diplomat, with agents no doubt roaming his halls. Being around him made him wish to bathe for hours and he suspected the whoreson may have noted his preference for his Commander. Seeing him like this would only confirm it and wasn’t in the mood to let the bastard or the Emperor of Nilfgaard know any more of his private life. Especially when it was steeped in sin and degeneracy such as this. That he liked being pleasured by the mouth of his male Intelligence Officer.

Curse his lust. Roche was just too damn easy and horrendously willing not to take advantage. It delighted him in the most depraved way how simple it was to excite him into arousal. Merely leaning over him to gently breathe against his ear had him whimpering. A single finger running along his jaw got his darling hound to fall to his knees, willing to serve and service as he wished. And a kiss? The whoreson practically fainted in delight. Hard and ready from something so innocuous.

Yes, he could have held off from being a filthy bastard himself, but the time had come once again to send Roche away on a mission - All his Blue Stripes, actually. No other unit did he trust with infiltration like them and what he had in mind required stealth and success. A silent, hushed operation which he had been planning for weeks, the end which entailed square coins for purposeful sabotage and careful coded notes for detractors to decipher. All payment for Kaedweni nobility - a sickening, hefty amount - to ensure the halt of Henselt’s wandering eyes to his fertile lands. 

Truthfully, it was all a bloody pain in the ass, but it needed to be done. This was part of the reality of his Northern kin. They all had a lust for something; His just happened to be more for the flesh than for land and coin.

But he had been slacking as of late on executing his plan. Putting it off, pretending it was for logical and technical reasons, but Roche probably knew his real intention. Whoreson had a way of making him grow fevered with hot desire with a mere swipe of his tongue across his pale, greedy lips, and he was helpless to resist putting something of his in the space to shut him up. Fingers, his tongue, his cock. Whatever. The haze of arousal from Roche’s teasing reminded him of his youth - when he was energetic and desired. Not, well. Not old and tired.

He didn’t want to ship him out because he couldn’t stand to lose his source of sexual relief. It would be too damn long for him to come back and despite his boasting and composure, he deeply needed the physicality. The ache in his balls was unbearable some days.

The consequence - his slacking, his thrice written and planned preparation, his nights spent fucking the whoreson instead of commanding - came in the form of Nilfgaard arriving at his door, pretending to be there with open arms. Rebellion swelled, Louisa abandoned him, and while his country took a rapid turn into insanity, he had to make the choice. A hurried order for Roche to depart for the north in less than a week and him agreeing to succeed. To bring some victory to Temeria. Even though it meant they wouldn’t be able to have any bit of fun for a while. Not until foundations had been laid.

Not until Temeria stopped collapsing in on itself.

It was a proposal that his cock hadn’t enjoyed in the slightest. Which was how he wound up desperately hissing for Roche to pleasure him before a damned meeting. Anything to have his lust satiated before he was gone. The ache was already becoming maddening and every time he crossed paths with his Commander, he wanted to slam him against a wall and claim him for his royal line. Conquer him for the glory of his blood.

Too bad he never realized the stress of being caught didn’t appeal to him before he pushed his damned robes aside and exposed himself to Vernon. Not in the ploughing slightest. He was many things and a lot of them worded unkindly, but a shameless flaunting prick wasn’t one. He did not relish letting anyone see his new method of depraved lust - even if his thoughts toyed with the idea while on his throne - and the way he enjoyed a tongue against his precious jewels. How Roche expertly suckled at him and painted his prick with wet kisses, driving him mad, making him bite his knuckle in ecstasy.

As much as he wanted to smugly show his barons how loud he could make Roche beg, he knew his Commander felt the same about exposure. Both were deeply private in some matters, and this was one of the larger secrets they held between them. Roche pleasuring him was for their business alone. 

But if he didn’t reign himself in and get a hold of his damned foolish needs, the entire continent would be mouthing off, from Nilfgaard to Skellige, of what sickness Temeria’s leader had now acquired. That he was clearly asking to be disposed, flogged, and burned by the Church. Told to wipe ash on his forehead, wear white plain clothes without shoes, and self-mutilate his back like an animal.

Like hell he’d agree to such shit.

He forced Roche’s head down further, choking him on his cock at the thought, and he winced as he felt him fist at his robes. Yes, he was toeing the line, pushing his Commander beyond his limit, but if he sat through a council meeting with a clear bloody bulge in his robes, it wouldn’t be taken kindly. Shilard would probably figure out he was like this after speaking to Roche, and once again he’d be thrown in an awkward situation of lying to protect himself. He wasn’t in the mood to experience the discomfort nor give Nilfgaard the satisfaction of knowing anything of his desires; The cunts.

“Roche,” he hissed again, desperate. “Come on.”

Surely, the boy knew as well as him the trouble they were going to be in if he didn’t hurry up.

To his credit, Roche was still trying his damndest to get him where he needed. His right hand had slipped down to knead at his sack, his rough flesh encouraging him to come faster, but gods, he wasn’t as young as he had been. It took some time these days, even when he had his expert Commander swallowing the entire length of his dick, sucking on it with an intensity that did make his thighs slightly quiver. It was enough to get him flushed and filled with depraved thoughts, but just below crossing the edge. That teasing feeling that seemed further and further out of reach. Like a sack of orens hanging from the top branches of a tree over a cliff. Tempting and teasing, but beyond his realm and grasp.

And Gods, did he hate that feeling. He despised being denied.

Ploughing hell, he should have elected to just fuck the boy. That usually got him off quicker, especially since he was still rather - embarrassingly - inexperienced at it. A hole wasn’t just a hole he found out and Roche was different than women. Flexible in some ways but with an ass that seemed to fit his personality. Tight, hot, and difficult to last ten minutes around. But he lacked the oil in his office. And saliva was a poor substitute, even if his Commander was willing to proceed with just that.

Harshly, he pushed Roche’s head again, his cheeks burning as he felt the whoreson’s spit soak into his slickened shaft. Vernon swallowed around him, his cheeks hollowing in understanding at his need, but he only teased him to the point of frustration. There needed to be more and his patience was stretched as thin as a seamstress’ brittle thread.

“Roche!” he snapped, growing irritated at the utter restriction they were under. “Hurry up!”

He swore he saw him fix his brows in disappointment. If he was dragging this out, he was going to tan his backside. “Vernon!” he warned.

Roche gulped around his cock once again, bracing himself to start thrusting his head when he paused. Longer than normal.

“Roche-” he started again, impatient, ready to dig into the boy, his fist clenching against the wooden armrest when he heard the noise from beyond the closed door. Soft and distant, but clear in its rhythm. Footsteps on a rug. Each step growing louder as the seconds passed.

His pulse jumped into his throat as the cold reality paralyzed his spine and he glanced at the window behind them. By the sunlight alone he could tell they were running out of time. Shilard was often early to their meetings. If this was him, he was going to give Nilfgaard everything they ever wanted to nail him to a tree with his guts hanging out.

Instantly, Roche pulled off to take a sharp breath, realizing the danger. “Your Majesty,” he said, his voice low, near whispering, and he pressed his lips thin as he caught his gaze. He didn’t look too enthused by the coming bastard either, a hint of panic crossing over his face as they listened. The steady noise of footsteps concerned him, but not as much as his erect wet prick did. There would be no way to hide himself unless he wanted to sit in discomfort and pain for hours and even then, it was too obvious he was aroused.

Perhaps this was punishment for him lusting after his Commander. Melitele had a sense of humor after all.

He swallowed, a million thoughts racing through his head as his logic bombarded him with truth, his heartbeat growing so fast and thick in his mouth that he had to turn away and press a fist to his lips. But he made this bed. He asked Roche to lie in it with him. And damn the fools that wanted to break him for this. He would not let himself be manipulated and stressed from bastards that dressed in black with a golden sun. They always looked down on Nordlings as uneducated simpletons, but he equally viewed them as the same. At least in Temeria he was still free to do as he chose.

And the North’s pride was more vibrant than a pathetic gold-painted Sun.

“Finish what you started,” he commanded, his voice almost shaking, but he caught Roche’s eyes with his own; Purposely holding their gaze steady and calmly, as if he wasn’t deterred. Roche merely breathed out slowly, a ferocity hidden behind his eyes reflecting something strange - Admiring? Adoring? - but he gave a curt nod. The order had been given. And damned anyone if they were going to stop Vernon Roche from finishing a job given to him by his king.

He saw his throat move - swallowing quickly, twice in succession - before his eyes sunk down, focusing on his cock with a vivid sharpness, his fingers clasping around the base to hold him steady as he straightened his shoulders back. They moved, flexing a bit as if he was about to walk into battle, before he bent over, his lips moving to align with the flushed head of his prick.

Part of the reason he constantly pursued his Commander was for this moment - the visceral intensity of watching Roche perform. There was a smoothness to his action, akin to a stream rushing over rocks. He didn’t hesitate or stutter, nor did he overact to flatter him. Roche naturally moved, his hand steady and firm, before he placed the tip of his cock in his mouth, the sensation like cutting into warm butter. Swift, yet satisfying, and he didn’t bother to hold back the shudder that came from his nerves.

He swore he saw the whoreson smirk. Bastard was asking for a good hefty fuck later. 

Yet it was obvious Roche clearly derived pleasure from his skill, and without prompt he quickly ran his tongue over his slit, tasting the beading precome, licking it up as if he was starving before he settled his mouth so he could begin to sink down. Deeper down his shaft, his movement continuous and fluid like smoke curling out from the mouth of a pipe, and he slipped inch by inch down his cock until he couldn’t go further. Until the King’s prick was settled in the depths of his silken throat.

As much as he enjoyed watching his performance, the footsteps weren’t slowing down. They moved at a relative pace, the sound echoing louder, and he furrowed his brow, his lips surprisingly dry from just witnessing Roche’s honed hidden skill. “Roche,” he reminded him. There was no more time for theatrics or pleasure watching. “Start.”

His damned Commander swallowed around him, melting his cock, the saliva sticking to every fold and vein, and he carefully moved to brace himself against him. Readying with the first thrust, his head pulling up, exposing all that he had fit in as if to give him one last show of his talent. Gods, it was agonizing. But Roche began before he could hiss at him, moving up and down with slight hesitation as he adjusted to a better position. He turned slightly, cocked his head to make the movement fluid, and he quickly caught a decent rhythm. He thrust his throat on his cock carefully, damn well making sure his teeth would not dare scrape his Majesty’s delicate flesh - He knew the consequence if he did - as he assessed the effectiveness of his motion.

When he didn’t reprimand him for the first tentative sucks, he angled slightly right, his brows fixing in concentration before the whoreson started stuffing him down his throat. And it was the only way he could describe it. Like a snake trying to swallow a horse. He slid his cock down enough that he swore his throat was bulging, his cheeks flushing as he did, before the bastard snapped his head back nearly to the point of dropping him from his mouth. Where the crown of his prick caught just between his lips and Roche breathed through his cheeks, before plunging back down. The process repeated and he clenched his jaw as he watched. The display of how much length Vernon could take in a single swallow, how he didn’t bloody pause or whine. He merely clicked into place, bobbing up and down like driftwood caught in the surf.

He briefly had to stare at the ceiling, his balls aching desperately, wanting to let go, but still being held back by a mental block. One that wanted him to prolong this and throw his Commander over his office desk to make him beg and bellow for his seed.

It wasn’t getting him off like he wanted - this was only heightening the sexual tension that agonized his mind.

Gods, what would his subjects think if they saw this display? Maybe they’d understand his weakness to Roche’s damned mouth. Yet his head dipped so he could dig his index finger into his temple in frustration, his eyes flicking back to the door, his lust burning, but not roaring in his veins. Not while someone was coming down the hall. Not while Roche was only darkening the invisible lust between them with his indecent sucking.

The hollow thuds of boots on thick rug made his gut clench and Roche noisily swallowed around him as dragged his fingers to brace his hands on his thighs. Trying to quicken his desperately sloppy pleasuring, but not bringing him fast enough to the point of no return. Not yet. He just needed something more to hit the edge, to encourage his wandering sick mind to focus on his prick and not extend it to the bedroom. To get to the precipice of the tower in his brain so he could release. What he needed was beyond what Roche was giving him. It needed to shake him.

The footsteps boomed in his head as they approached. His blood began to rush with panic in his veins. Roche needed to damn well hurry up and his damn cock needed to obey the time limit. Again, he fisted his rough chaperon, pushing his head down further, his nail digging into his own temple as he did, stabbing it. “Roche,” he warned again, his cheeks roasting as he felt the room grow small around them. Too exposed. His Commander got the hint and pushed himself further, thrusting with clipped, short strokes.

Except as much as Vernon was bobbing up and down on his cock with furious eager vigor, the footsteps were nearly at the door and the echo made his heart race like a wild stallion. They were going to get caught. He was going to face his entire scandal happen again, only this time with Roche and not his beloved Adda, and gods help him, he wasn’t ready.

Quickly he sucked in a breath, his eyes burning into the back of Roche’s covered head, how he was moving up and down his shaft, the wet sucking his lips were making sounding like a thunderstorm in the tiny room. Alerting everyone in Vizima to what they were doing. That Vernon Roche, his appointed Blue Stripes Commander, was sucking his cock like a whore. And he encouraged it; Because he was sick in the head.

No, because Roche made him feel so ploughing young again.

To hell with the gods. Plough time up the arse. He wasn’t fucking getting caught that day.

Roughly, he grabbed the back of Roche’s head, thrusting it harshly down, practically impaling his throat on his dick. Roche gulped in shock around him, his body growing stiff, but didn’t protest. Brilliant boy didn’t bite or struggle despite his forcefulness and how much he was choking him. He knew the motion and he went slack as he shoved him down, accepting it, a breath sounding through his nose. There was no question or offensive - he blindly did as he wanted. He knew the stakes at hand.

Yet he had to have more. Just an inch. Enough that his hands would cease shaking in fear.

Quickly he pushed further, grinding Roche’s mouth down to the thick base of his cock, forcing his wet lips to smear against the skin, his nose bending hard into his coarse hairs. His throat was impossibly tight, struggling to hold his entire length, and he fisted the back of his skull hard as he focused on the sensation. The anxious feeling running through him and the part that was groaning over how much Roche had swallowed. Either he could get caught or get off. There was no other option and he screwed his eyes shut, his body tense as he gagged his Commander on his prick.

There was a hot sensation to it, the way Roche was ready to choke, how the crown of his cock was pushed so far down Roche’s throat that when he swallowed, he swore he felt his adams apple rise and fall against the underside of his shaft. It was hot muscle - molten and forgiving - and viciously tight, like untempered jewelry. Cutting off the circulation yet in a demonically pleasurable way. It was wet; Warm. Sloppy. Everything he loved. He grit his teeth, his mind knotting as he focused on the depravity of what he was doing. That he had fallen so far off his royal pedestal to reducing himself to desperation for a mouth.

He was halfway down Roche’s throat, holding him captive on it to the point where he could feel his saliva starting to trickle down his sack. Bubbling around his swollen lips, soaking his nether hair so that it stuck to his skin. If he came, he would pump right into Roche’s stomach, wouldn’t he? He’d be forced to swallow - drink down his come like a drunk with a full mug of ale, and it made his chest heave, his mind groaning in desperation at the thought. 

Roche greedily sucking him down, gulping his seed, moaning as he did. Swallowing part of him that he had only permitted the loves of his life to handle. And he had no doubt that his Commander would relish it. Love it. He adored being come in. Even when he was bent over a stool with his ass beaten red. Even when he pulled his hair and fucked him so hard he struggled to stand.

When they became a sweaty mess of bodies pressed together and Roche’s teeth marks were imprinted on his sheets.

The reality was his Commander was silent as his mind worked him into a lust-craved frenzy, but it didn’t matter. His degenerate thoughts were enough - the reminder of the past when he had subjected Roche to hungrily swallowing his seed. It was enough to just get him to that cliff he had been struggling toward. The tip of what he needed. Where the constant sensation of Vernon’s throat around his prick - a melting heat; A licking dangerous fire - began stoking the smouldering coals in his stomach. He pinpointed on it, ignoring the footsteps now at the door and how Roche’s grip was starting to quiver with breathlessness, his nose inhaling against his lower stomach in desperate short bursts. 

All that mattered was him finishing. And the thought of Roche coming at the same time, giving him that damned look he always gave him when he was at his own peak.

He huffed, the clenching in his guts releasing, his mind finally crumbling from the weight of the cliff, and he felt the quaking sensation of his cock finally begin to let go. Sputtering at first, before it came out in a consistent, fast stream, and he relaxed his grip as Roche gagged slightly, clearly not prepared for how quick he had started. Yet the boy didn’t pull off. He eased up, swallowing quickly around him - hungrily, really, like it was his last meal before execution - until he popped off at the last second of his final spurts of long-denied release. A pathetic dribble that spilled down his cock, but his Commander dutifully caught the head of his prick back in his mouth, sucking him clean until he kicked his thigh.

His mind had blossomed into a messy quagmire of bubbling pleasure and heavy exhaustion. Both which made his limbs turn to lead and his body to slide down slightly in his chair. Gods damn it.

“Roche,” he hissed, the sensation too painful when he touched him, and the prick finally understood when he inhaled in discomfort, withdrawing to let him recover. He slumped further in his chair, his hand moving to rub his face as he tried to shake off the orgasm. What time was it? Gods, he was tired. A bloody sleep in the sun would ploughing be ideal right then.

Roche coughed, wiping his seed from the corners of his mouth, and he ignored him to clumsily deal with himself. How his cock still throbbed from the stimulation and release, and how the slickness from Roche’s saliva was beginning to cool and dry on his shaft. Quickly and sloppily, he tucked his wet, softening cock back against his thigh, to where it usually laid during the day before he found himself pausing.

The footsteps. No longer were they at the door; They had grown distant. Did they hear? Did the whoreson enter? No, he didn’t make a sound, neither did Roche, and unless they came in, it was doubtful anyone heard through the thick, heavy oak. Besides, the steps sounded like they were retreating. Back down the hall, towards some other office. To parts unknown.

He forced himself to sit upright in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he realized just how stressed the entire thing had made him. Gods, he prayed to whatever deity he could that whoever had walked past had heard nothing and was oblivious to what he had just done to his Commander.

Roche moved to stand and he flicked his gaze to him, watching as he rubbed his knees, adjusting his own clothes. He didn’t seem affected in the slightest and it made him frown. Usually the prick was bent over and rubbing himself desperately against his thigh or hand, yet he appeared more regal and composed than him.

Then again, his Commander was a professional. He wouldn’t be shocked to hear later that he had locked his office door after and hadn’t come out until the evening.

“Roche,” he muttered and he felt his cheeks redden slightly as the neutral yet loyal eyes of his Commander fell to him. “Thank you,” he decided to say.

His Commander only swallowed, giving a nod, before he licked the corner of his mouth again. As if he was trying to savour the taste of his wicked essence. “It was my pleasure, your Majesty.”

Why his words made his cock twitch again, he didn’t know, but he forcefully brushed it aside, his fingers pressing hard into his eyes to the point where bursts of coloured lights started dancing behind his lids.

“Roche-”

“Your Majesty,” he said sharply in a tone that made him purposely pause and listen. The sound of footsteps were echoing again, this time a bit more numerous than one single set, and he felt his body ache in exhaustion. Yet there was no time for him to stretch out the kinks in his back or rub away the deep flush on his cheeks. They were coming, there was no doubt this time, and he looked behind his shoulder once more to look at the sky outside.

Slightly late. Maybe that was for his benefit.

“Go,” he commanded. “Don’t let them see you, Vernon.” 

Roche frowned slightly, but not out of defiance. It was from a mutual understanding - a silent agreement between them - and he gave a solid nod, one that he reflected back. They had come and he was going to find himself surrounded by wolves. Ones that would salivate at seeing him appear old, tired, and worn out.

He pushed out of his chair as Roche bowed to him, making sure he cracked his neck before they came and he fixed his robes to a more proper state. No weakness could be present. “You know,” Roche said as he stalked toward the door, his voice low but sly enough to be heard. “I could still kill Shilard before I leave.”

He gave a half smile at his suggestion. It was damn tempting. “That may start a war, Roche.”

“We won once before.”

“Go,” he commanded louder, not bothering to watch him leave as he cracked his knuckles. The popping reminded him of nails shattering out of the bases of ballista when they were improperly loaded. An irritation that would bother him later. “But Roche?” He felt him physically pause by the door. “Make sure you practice for next time.”

He heard his breath hitch. “Next time?”

He was a sick bastard.

“Yes,” he said as he moved to stare out the small, weather-stained window. His lust really knew no bounds, even when being threatened again, and he rotated his family ring on his middle finger, setting it right. Maybe he did need to devote himself to the Church. Either that or move Roche closer to the castle. Near enough that he could fulfill his desire without being chanced upon by nobles. “I want you to take me fully. Without any help. Is that clear?”

He heard him breathe. Shakily; Eager. Enough to set his cheeks aflame once more.

“Yes, your Majesty. Crystal clear.”


End file.
